Stuart Woods - Choke

“I see your point.” Daryl pulled into the parking lot of the Raw Bar, and the two detectives went in and asked for a table by the water.

“We’re pretty jammed, Daryl,” the young head waitress said. “You mind sitting at the bar?”

“Not at all, Suzie,” Daryl replied. “Come on, Tommy, the tourists have got all the tables; let’s eat with the other locals. The noon news is on the TV.”

They found barstools and ordered lunch. Tommy ate quietly, and Daryl followed his lead.

Then Tommy’s head snapped up at the TV set. “What did she say that name was?”

“What name?” Daryl asked, looking at the TV.

“Somebody got offed north of Miami.” He watched as the camera roamed around a rest stop and looked inside a car.

“So? We haven’t got enough to worry about?”

“Shut up and listen, Daryl.”

The TV cut back to the anchorwoman on the noon news. “This is the latest in a series of murders of tourists up and down Florida,” she was saying. “Mr. Carman had rented the car at Miami International four days ago and had apparently been touring the area. The Florida legislature has acted to have the state’s license plate system altered so that rental cars will not be recognizable by their license numbers, but unfortunately, the car Mr. Carman had rented had not had its plate changed yet. There are no suspects yet in the murder.”

“Holy shit,” Tommy said softly.

“That’s our Carman from yesterday?” Daryl asked.

“I’m gonna find out,” Tommy said. “Finish my lunch for me.” He headed for the pay phones.

When he came back, he was nodding. “It was our Carman, the PI from California. Come on, let’s do some police work.”

Back in the car they drove to Dey Street and parked half a block from the Carras house.

“We’ll each take a side of the street,” Tommy said. “Talk to somebody at every house, especially little old ladies. They never miss anything.”

Half an hour later they met back at the car.

“What have you got?” Tommy asked.

“Little old lady across the street says Mrs. Carras’s car hasn’t left the driveway since midnight. She got up at 4:00 A.M. to pee, and the car was there at that time. Tommy, you weren’t seriously thinking that Clare Carras could drive a hundred and seventy-five miles north in the middle of the night, murder Carman-how?”

“With a large knife.”

“Yeah, a knife-and get back here in time to talk to us this morning without batting an eyelash?”

“No, I don’t think that, not really, but think about it: Carras runs off with some bad people’s money four years ago, and they’ve been looking for him ever since. Suddenly a private eye gets a tip, then he shows up in Key West, questions Clare. He tells us about it after the inquest, then next morning, bright and early, he’s dead. Now, do you think there might be a connection between his murder and Clare Carras?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? Maybe? I can’t see it any other way. Look, if she knocked off her husband, then she had to have some help, right?”

“Probably.”

“Then who?”

“Chandler?”

“No, not Chandler. She’s trying to hand him to us for the murder; he wouldn’t help her. She’s got another boyfriend.”

“And the boyfriend offed Carman?”

“Gotta be; who else?”

“Tommy, remember what the lady on TV said? Tourists have been getting offed all up and down the state-some of them at rest stops. Don’t you ever watch TV?”

“And you buy Carman’s death as one of those?” Tommy demanded, not without scorn.

“Seems like the obvious answer. Anyway, it’s a better answer than somebody from Key West following him to a rest stop a couple hundred miles north and offing him just because he found Clare Carras. Tommy, if he was killed around six this morning, he would have had to drive all night to get there. No, he had to be staying in the Miami area, and Clare couldn’t have known where. It’s just too much of a stretch, too much of a coincidence.”

“Yeah? Let’s go back to the station and do some phone work.”

“What kind of phone work?”

“I want to know where Carman stayed and when he checked out and what phone calls he got while he was there.”

“Tommy, you can be such a pain in the ass sometimes,” Daryl moaned.

Two hours later, Daryl put down the phone and motioned to Tommy, who was at the next desk.

Tommy hung up. “What?”

“He stayed at the Pier House; he was out until about eleven-thirty. He paid his bill before he went to bed-said he was leaving early the next morning, had to catch a plane in Miami. They don’t know if he got any calls, but someone could have called in on a direct line if they had his room number. He made two calls while he was there, both to the same L.A. number.” He shoved his pad toward Tommy.

Tommy glanced at the number. “Okay, good, let’s backtrack. If Carman got dead around six, what’s the latest he would have had to leave?”

“Well, it’s a good four hours to Miami, and he was a bit farther north, say four and a half hours?”

“But he was driving in the middle of the night, so there’s no traffic.”

“Okay, four hours from the Pier House to the rest stop.”

“So he left the Pier House sometime between eleven-thirty and two A.M.”

“More or less.”

“And Clare Carras’s car was parked in her driveway all night, or at least until four A.M.”

“Right.”

“So somebody had to follow him from Key West. Four hours is a long time without a piss, and the first time he stopped, somebody followed him into the men’s room and cut his throat.”

“Unless they knew where he was going and were waiting for him.”

“Nah, they couldn’t predict where he’d stop.” Tommy was quiet for a moment. “Or could they?”

“Look, Tommy, I can buy that somebody followed him from Key West and offed him-it’s a stretch, but I can buy it. What I can’t buy is that Clare Carras knew when Carman would need to piss and have somebody waiting for him. Is it okay that I can’t buy that?”

“It’s okay, Daryl. But I still connect Clare Carras to this.”

“I believe you, Tommy; Clare Carras is a master criminal who can pull the strings on any murder from the reef to the Everglades. I’m with you all the way.”

“Don’t be a smartass, Daryl.”

A secretary approached. “Tommy, Daryl, the chief wants to see both of you.”

The chief looked serious as the two detectives sat down. “I read your report,” he said. “Why haven’t you arrested Chandler?”

Tommy blinked. “I don’t think we’ve got enough, Chief, not yet.”

“Is your report accurate?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then Chandler looks good for it, doesn’t he?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? You got anybody else in mind?”

“It’s complicated, Chief. I’ve got four or five scenarios; I just need more time to run them down.”

“You’ve questioned Chandler twice, right?”

“Right.”

“Did you read him his rights?”

“The second time, not the first; I wanted the first to be informal.”

“Did he respond to being read his rights?”

“It made him nervous, if that’s what you mean.”

“Good. Arrest him, bring him in here, and sweat him. Let’s see how he holds up under pressure.”

“He’ll just call a lawyer.”

“Come on, Tommy, you’re more experienced than that. You can talk to him, scare him, make him stumble. Hell, you might even get a confession.”

“Chief, my gut tells me he didn’t do it.”

“Your report tells me he did. Even if he didn’t, he’s bound to know more about this than he’s telling. Get him in here, sweat him, get everything you can. We’ve got enough for an indictment, the D.A. agrees with me on that.”